


Surrounded By Solitude

by Musyc



Series: Shelter and Sanctuary [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Hermione Granger - character, Stockholm Syndrome, Voldemort Wins, captive/slave, dark themes, post-war AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark Lord's rules were harsh, but she found safety in Draco's care. She knew her place. However, Hermione always knew that the rules of the game could change. What she didn't understand was how much it would affect her when she found herself playing a new game, on a new board. Now she's lost, and afraid the game will be lost as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrounded By Solitude

Hermione knelt on the dais at the front of the Great Hall, her dress tucked under her knees to cushion them from the cold stones. She rested her head against Draco's leg, pleating a fold of his robes between her fingers. Draco's hand was warm on the back of her head and she welcomed the comforting, familiar touch. It helped her forget that Draco sat at the Dark Lord's side as a reminder of his failed missions, of his assigned task to break her to the Dark Lord's will. It helped her to ignore that her position mirrored that of Bellatrix, curled up beside her master with a twisted smile curling her mouth as she looked over his knees.

"Comfy, Mudblood?" Bellatrix asked, her voice more nasal now. Her broken nose had not been healed by magic, the Dark Lord forbidding her any medical attention as punishment for allowing Hermione to get the drop on her weeks before.

Hermione flicked a glance that direction as Draco's fingers tightened in her hair. She glared at the older, mad witch and settled more closely to Draco's leg. The long chain attached to her collar rattled as she wrapped one hand around his ankle.

"She does appear to be quite comfortable." The Dark Lord's voice, cold and high, scraped down Hermione's spine and she hid a shudder. "It seems that young Malfoy is finally training her properly. He's certainly rewarded her well. New dress, warm shoes, very nice. And judging from her face, it seems he doesn't find it necessary to beat her at all. Tell me, Draco," and his voice shifted into a malevolent purr, "what precisely do you do to keep her so obedient?"

Draco's fingers tensed against Hermione's skull. "As I said not long after you first gave her to me, my Lord, she is intelligent and pragmatic. She has seen the foolishness of struggling against her situation and accepted her circumstances."

"Have you, little Mudblood?" The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and Hermione turned to look at him automatically, knowing the gesture demanded her attention. He had his chin in one hand and he was looking at her with interest. She fought not to tremble as he looked her over, struggled not to hide herself in the folds of Draco's robes. "Have you learned your place?"

"M-my Lord," she said, but her voice was barely a whisper and Draco sucked in a breath in apprehension. Hermione cleared her throat and shifted on her knees. "My Lord, Draco has shown me the proper way to behave here. He has taught me how.... He has taught me much. My place. Where I belong." She took a deep breath. Every word she spoke was true, but none of it was the Dark Lord's truth. Draco had taught her how to behave, but he had really shown her how to survive. In the privacy of their rooms, she felt safe and protected, and she was willing to continue to play his obedient captive and biddable servant if it meant that she would never be turned over to one of the other Death Eaters. Even now, she could see Fenrir licking his lips and mouthing vile promises at her. She focused on the trophy floating over the throne, Harry's broken glasses twisting in the glowing sphere of green light. She _would_ survive, by whatever means necessary.

The Dark Lord watched her in silence as he patted Bellatrix' hair. "Interesting," he said, and Hermione tensed for further comment or for the chilly feel of his mind slipping across hers. Instead, he turned away, looking over the Death Eaters gathered in the Great Hall.

Hermione stifled a sigh of relief and slumped against Draco's leg. He rubbed the back of her neck, just above the heavy collar, and she looked up to him. He glanced down without moving his head, but one eyelid lowered in a subtle wink and one corner of his mouth twitched. Hermione leaned into his touch, comforted by his approval.

An uproar came from one of the tables at the far side of the hall. A group of Death Eaters pounded on the table and stomped on the floor, each cheering and laughing. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as a pair of men moved and cleared her line of sight. She saw Yaxley at the center of the group, Gabrielle kneeling on the table in front of him. Her long blond hair had been cut close to her head, and her face bore the evidence of multiple slaps and hits. Her naked body carried more, bruised in fresh purple and fading green marks from her shoulders to her knees. Yaxley stood and drew back his hand to slap hard across her breasts. Gabrielle yelped, the sound loud even over the howling cheers. Yaxley gave an order that Hermione couldn't hear, but she dug her nails into Draco's leg as Gabrielle obeyed.

Gabrielle turned on the table and sprawled across it, her thighs spread and arse high to display the bloody, red welts of a recent beating. Yaxley grabbed the short thatch of her hair and jerked her head up, rubbing it against his groin. He gestured to one of the watching men in invitation. Hermione shook, sinking her teeth into her lip to keep from screaming a protest as both Yaxley and the other Death Eater opened their robes. Gabrielle was pinned between them, impaled from both ends, and the gathered men roared in violent approval.

Hermione clung to Draco's leg, tears rolling down her cheeks as the men placed bets and made mocking comments on Gabrielle's performance. This, _this_ was why she behaved. This was why she had decided long before that she would do anything Draco wanted or needed in order to stay in his possession. She obeyed and played the game they'd invented, with its confusing rules and difficult moves. If she hadn't, she'd be there in Gabrielle's place, beaten bloody and raped for the sick amusement of the Death Eaters. Under Draco's protection, she was safe.

The tall doors at the end of the hall swung open, and Hermione tore her eyes away from the men queuing up to take their turn at Gabrielle. She watched as a pair of Snatchers marched a young woman into the hall and up to the dais. The woman's reddish-blond hair was familiar, but it wasn't until the woman was closer that the pattern of scars across her face sent a flicker of recognition through Hermione. She held her breath against a shriek of anger as Marietta Edgecombe walked up and bowed to the Dark Lord.

"What news?" the Dark Lord asked, leaning forward, his red eyes hungry with anticipation.

"My Lord," Marietta said, her gaze locked on his face. Hermione clung to Draco's leg, shaking with disbelief at the look of adoration Marietta wore. It was almost a match for the way Bellatrix looked at her master, and it made Hermione's stomach roil with disgust. "I have information on the resistance cell in Wales. I've infiltrated their headquarters and am near to--"

" _Near_?" The Dark Lord leaned back in his throne, thin fingers drumming on the top of Bellatrix' head. "Do you hear that, Bella? Only near."

Bellatrix made a humming sound of displeasure. "And after we were so kind to her mother." She clucked her tongue and gave a cold, cackling laugh. "What a shame."

Marietta's face had gone pale, but she stood straight, looking at the Dark Lord without cringing. "I only need a little more time, my Lord. Just a little more and I'm sure that I'll be able to--"

"Silence." The Dark Lord shook his head as Marietta snapped her mouth shut. "I am not interested in your excuses. You have had too much time as it is. Failure has no place in the future of wizardry. You are relieved of your task. Young Malfoy will take it over."

Draco stiffened, his thigh going solid as marble beneath Hermione's head. "My Lord?"

"I told you some time ago that you would be given one more chance, young Malfoy. One more mission. One _last_ opportunity to prove yourself. You will take over the operation to destroy the Welsh resistance. After all, you did remind me of your efforts to provide our friends access to this castle, back when you requested the gift of your little Mudblood."

Marietta had been looking at Draco through the Dark Lord's speech, and as he finished, her gaze dropped for the first time to Hermione, crouched at Draco's feet. Her eyes widened and she gave a short, barking laugh.

"Something amusing?" the Dark Lord asked, his voice as cold and smooth as a sheet of ice.

Marietta snapped her eyes back, her face pale beneath the pattern of scars. "Y-yes, my Lord," she said, swallowing hard. She took a deep breath and her expression twisted into a sneer. "Granger. She and her group of idiots once called me a traitor. Now she's a Death Eater's whore."

Hermione scowled and shifted on her knees. Draco's hand tightened in her hair. The warning came at an auspicious time, reminding her to behave and play by the confusing rules of their secret game. No matter how much she wanted to speak up and defend herself, defend her choices, she had to obey. Her eyes flickered towards Gabrielle, barely visible in the circle of jeering men. She had to obey. She would not let herself end up like that.

The Dark Lord laughed and Hermione bit her lip against the pain as Draco's grip tightened further when Bellatrix' laugh joined in. "Perhaps she is," came the witch's mocking voice. "And to all appearances, she's an excellent one. My nephew certainly seems to be much more relaxed these days. He must enjoy having her filthy body in his bed."

Hermione felt Draco tense, then his thigh relaxed. He stretched his legs out and his fingers loosened from her hair. He gripped the back of the heavy leather collar she wore and gave it a firm tug. Hermione responded immediately, rising up on her knees. Draco's hand drifted over her shoulder and down to palm her breast. "She knows where she belongs," he said, his voice slow and drawling. "She's learned her place. A filthy Mudblood whore who spreads her legs whenever I demand. "

Hermione closed her eyes against the insults and mockery in Draco's voice. She knew it was a show for the Dark Lord, knew he was only saying what was expected of him, but it still hurt to hear. Alone in their room, he treated her with affection and care, but here, he couldn't. He had to behave according to the rules, and so did she. She arched her back, pressing her breast into Draco's hand, and she licked her lips as she tipped her head to meet his eyes. She gave a soft moan and laid her hand over his. "Master," she said in a breathy whisper.

"How about that?" Bellatrix asked. Hermione turned her head to see the witch peeking over the Dark Lord's legs and smirking at her. "Looks like my nephew _did_ learn what to do with a woman, my Lord. Perhaps he's not entirely useless."

The Dark Lord patted Bellatrix's tangled curls. "Perhaps. Perhaps he will actually succeed at this new assignment, where Marietta has failed."

Marietta jumped. The shifting, nervous look in her eyes told clearly that she'd hoped she'd been forgotten while Draco and Hermione were under scrutiny. Her hands twisted together at her waist. "My Lord, if I could be given another chance. Another opportunity to please you. I swear I could fulfill any task set to me."

"Yes, I'm quite certain you could. I happen to have a task perfectly suited for someone of your talents." Marietta started to smile. The Dark Lord made a sharp gesture. "Fenrir, come. I have a new toy for you."

Hermione stiffened. "No," she whispered. She disliked Marietta, but this.... No one deserved this. Draco's hand shook and he gripped her collar as he hummed softly in warning. Hermione clutched his thigh and trembled.

Fenrir bounded out of the knot of men surrounding Gabrielle, blood staining his lips and his ragged beard. He looked at Marietta, frozen in terrified, wide-eyed fear, and his eyes lit. His smile widened, showing off his yellow, pointed teeth. "Oh, for me? You shouldn't have." He grabbed Marietta's chin and tipped her head up, twisted it back and forth as he examined her. Marietta made a soft, whimpering sound that grew in volume and speed. Fenrir loomed over her, and when Marietta's voice broke in a wild shriek, Fenrir laughed. He scooped her up and flung her screaming over his shoulder. "My thanks, my Lord!" he called back as he headed for the doors. "The ugly ones last longer!"

"Send a note of condolence to her mother," the Dark Lord told Bellatrix. She sniggered and leaned against his knee, long fingers toying with her Weasley-hair necklace. The Dark Lord turned his attention to Draco. "Malfoy."

"My Lord." Draco's response was automatic, but his fingers twitched against the back of Hermione's neck. She leaned into him, her arm slipping around his calf.

"I hope you have trained your Mudblood to be obedient even in your absence. You will take the Wales mission, and she will remain here. I suggest you do not make an utter mess of this task as you did with Dumbledore. If you do not return, I will permit Bella to dispose of the girl, and I assure you she has no feelings of charity towards your whore."  


* * *

  


Hermione huddled in the center of the sleeping alcove, watching Draco as he paced across the room with the neck of the brandy bottle clenched tight in his fist. He took a drink, swore softly, turned at the wall. Drink, swear, turn. Drink, swear, turn. She watched him for several minutes, until he'd drained half the bottle and the tension around his eyes had eased, then she took a deep breath and slipped out of the alcove. She moved into his path and put one hand on his bare chest. His heart pounded beneath her hand, each beat fast and hard. He stilled, his head bowed.

Hermione took the bottle from him and put it on the table. Without speaking, she slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. Draco stood like a statue, the muscles in his back hard under her hands. She smoothed her palms up his spine. He stayed quiet, but as she kneaded her fingers into the tight muscles, he moved. He brushed his hands against her hips and over the small of her back. They settled on her waist, stiff and tense.

Hermione rubbed the knob at the base of Draco's neck and dragged her fingers down his back. She ran her hands along his arms, avoiding his Mark without needing to remind herself not to touch it, and wrapped her fingers around his hands. Slowly, she pulled them off her hips and took a step backwards. Draco kept his head bowed, his eyes on the toes of his boots, but he followed her. Hermione led him to the chair and pushed him into it. He went, unresisting and silent.

She tugged the hem of her dress low and settled into his lap. One arm around his neck, she pressed her other hand over his heart. Draco didn't move for a minute except to breathe, each exhale scented with the heavy brandy. When he finally shifted, wrapping both arms around her and leaning his head against hers, Hermione nearly sobbed in relief. Even when he returned from disposing of the twisted corpses left in a heap for him to burn, he was never this tense and withdrawn.

She brushed her fingers over his cheek and rested her palm on his jaw. "If you lock me into this room," she said, her voice soft and slow, "you wouldn't have to worry while you were gone. I know better than to go anywhere without you. I'd be lonely, but I'd be safe."

He gave a noiseless laugh, his hand falling onto her thigh. He toyed with the hem of her dress, pleating it between his fingers. "No, you wouldn't be," he said, each word rough. "I could put a thousand spells on that door, and someone would still be able to get through. Compared to some of the others, I'm practically a Squib. Especially when you consider someone like Bella."

Hermione shuddered, nestling deeper into Draco's embrace. After the fight she'd had with the older witch, after she'd broken Bellatrix' nose in her efforts to defend and protect Draco from the Cruciatus, she knew that she was a dead woman should Bellatrix have any chance. She knew that Bellatrix would make it a slow and painful death, too, with intense torture and multiple rapes into the bargain. She could imagine Bellatrix opening her veins at the end, bleeding her into a basin and splashing gleefully in her _dirty_ blood.

Shaking her head in a futile effort to drive those images from her mind, she clung to Draco. His skin was warm against her cheek, his heartbeat slowing under her ear. "But you can't refuse," she said. "There's no possibility that you could refuse." No matter how much she prayed, no matter how hard she wished, she knew she had to deal with reality. Draco couldn't refuse to take on a mission assigned to him by the Dark Lord. She supposed she should be grateful this was the first one past his grave-digging duties since she'd been brought to the castle and given to him for 'breaking'.

Draco ran his fingers through her hair. "No," he said with a heavy sigh. "I can't. I can't refuse. I'll do whatever I can to be sure you're protected as much as possible while I'm gone, but...." He tipped his head and pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair. "But if something happens to me--"

"Don't." Hermione shivered and curled in tighter. "Don't say it."

"Quiet." Draco gripped her chin, lifting her head to force her to meet his eyes. "Hermione, don't be a fool. You know it could happen. You know anything could happen. It is entirely possible that I will fail on this mission. Hell, it's crossing the line into probable. If I don't come back, then we need to plan for what might happen to you. You don't want Bella to get her hands on you. Or Fenrir. If I fail, my master will give you to someone as punishment. What we need to do is plan for _who_."

"There isn't a single one of them I'd go to willingly," Hermione said. She pulled her chin out of his grasp and stood up to pace, much like he'd done before. She grabbed the brandy bottle and took a deep drink from it, coughing as the alcohol burned down her throat. "I won't. I won't go to any of them. Draco, I'd rather throw myself at the Dark Lord's feet and beg him to kill me."

"And that is exactly why he wouldn't." Draco steepled his fingers, watching her prowl back and forth across the room. "He'd give you to someone who would make certain that it took you a very, _very_ long time to die."

Hermione shivered and downed another swallow of brandy. She'd seen far too much of how the Death Eaters operated in the past few months. She knew how creative some of them could be. She took a third deep drink and gestured with the bottle. "You're the only one who has even a shred of kindness. The others ... god, the others. Who would you give me to, Draco? Yaxley? Avery? Macnair? Would you wrap me up in a bow and deliver me before you leave, just in case? Would you send the one you choose a note reading 'IOU one slave'?"

"Better than leaving the door open with a sign that says 'Take a ride on Malfoy's Mudblood whore', I should think." Draco scrubbed both hands over his face and sighed. He lifted one hand in a propitiating gesture as he looked up and saw the expression twisting Hermione's face. "I know, I know. Not that word, not here."

He shook his head with a growl, stood, and held one hand out to Hermione. She put the brandy bottle into it. Draco laughed before taking a drink, then set the bottle on the table and took her hand. "C'mon," he said, pulling her close and wrapping his arm around her waist. "I can't put effort into thinking about this any longer. A night's rest will do us both good. We'll talk about this more in the morning." He kissed the tip of her nose and gently knocked his forehead against hers. "I promise I'll take care of you."

* * *

Hermione stretched and rolled over, whimpering in the back of her throat as her hip rubbed on a lump in the sheets. Draco had gripped her with force the night before, held her tight as he drove into her. He'd clung to her, bruising her hips, leaving the shape of his fingers in her skin in pale purple. He'd bitten her, the imprints of his teeth scattered across her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. He'd marked her, claimed her as his, and she'd begged him for more. Begged him, and he'd given it to her, taking her harder, sending her screaming. She'd flown into the sun at his command, burst apart in fire as she cried out his name, and drifted off into the silence of unconscious exhaustion.

She smiled and stretched one arm across the bed, her mind still muzzy with sleep. She touched nothing but sheets, the material cool under her palm, and she frowned. Opening her eyes, she verified that Draco wasn't in bed. She made a quiet, disgruntled sound and sat up, the sheet held to her breasts. Draco wasn't lounging in the soft chair, wasn't writing at the table, wasn't touching his father's ring in the cabinet. Her heart started to race.

She scrambled out of the bed, ignoring the soft pains in her body from his attentions, and yanked her dress over her head, pulled the hem down to her thighs. She barely felt the chill of the stone floor under her feet as she ran to the bathroom and jerked the door open. Draco wasn't in the small room either. Hermione spun and scanned the main room, her eyes wide, the neckline of her dress clutched in her fist. "Draco?" she called in a desperate hope that his name would bring him into existence, make him appear out of empty air. "Draco, where are you?"

Her voice wavered on her words, and she sucked in a breath that trembled. She hurried to the table, but there was no note for her. She ran to the bed, patting it down in search of a scrap of parchment that Draco might have left her. He always left word for her these days, let her know that he'd gone out so that she would know he would return. There had to be _something_. Her breath came in rapid, heavy pants as she hauled the sheets from the bed, stripping it down to the faded mattress. She overturned the table, tore the seat cushion from the chair, pounded on the locked door of the cabinet.

She circled the room again and again. There was a quiet sobbing noise somewhere close by that she could hear, but she couldn't identify. It wasn't until she clapped her hands over her mouth that she realized the sound was coming from her. Her cheeks felt damp and she scrubbed her palms over them to wipe away the tears. She couldn't deny it any longer. He was gone. He was gone without a single indication of where or why or how long he'd be gone.

His mission, she finally decided, ordering herself to think rationally. The new assignment from the Dark Lord. Either Draco had left in the middle of the night once she'd fallen asleep, exhausted from the bout of sex, or--

Or he'd been forced to leave without warning.

"Draco," she whispered, shoving her fingers through her hair. She curled up in the center of the sleeping alcove, both arms tight around his pillow. "Draco, come back."

She didn't know how long she lay there, wrapped around the pillow, taking deep and shuddering breaths so that she could inhale his soap and shampoo, the heavy scent that was so familiar to her after months of sleeping in his embrace. She burrowed into the pillow, using it to soak up her tears. He'd left her, left her alone. After the promises that he'd keep her safe, that he'd protect her, he'd left. She clung to the pillow, holding it until her arms ached as she tried to tell herself that he wouldn't leave her voluntarily, that he wouldn't have left her without making provisions for her safety. She had to believe that. She _had_ to.

A soft noise in the room sent her flailing. She kicked the pillow away and rolled over, rolled fast and hard enough to fall out of the sleeping alcove and land on the floor with a grunt, bruising her knees and shins. "Draco!" she shouted, scraping her hair out of her eyes and looking around as her heart went into a frantic beat. "Draco!"

The house-elf with the missing ear jumped out from around the chair, jerking one hand from inside the ragged bit of tapestry it wore. The chair's cushion was held in its other long-fingered hand. The house-elf put the cushion back onto the chair and patted it carefully, then looked at Hermione and shook its head. Hermione's breath caught and she curled in on herself, her back against the platform of the alcove. She wrapped her arms around her shins and buried her head against her knees.

"Miss?" The voice was so soft that Hermione thought she'd imagined it, lost in her own racking breaths. She lifted her head and blew a curl out of her eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. The house-elf stood in front of her, fingers twisting together, eyes wide and bulging. "Miss is--" it leaned in close and whispered "--Dobby's friend?"

Hearing the house-elf's voice for the first time since she'd been brought to the castle startled Hermione enough that she didn't put the words together immediately beyond realizing for the first time that it was male. His single ear drooped and he started to back away. Hermione flung a hand out. "Stop. Please, wait. What did you say?"

The house-elf stopped, half-turned away from her. He turned back, slowly, and met her eyes. "Miss is Dobby's friend, yes?"

Hermione swallowed and nodded, curling her legs beneath her. "Yes. Yes, I knew Dobby. He was ... he was...." She closed her eyes to hold back the memory of being tortured in Draco's home, of the desperate escape and Dobby's sacrifice. "I knew him."

She opened her eyes and blinked away the sheen of tears that made the house-elf waver and blur. He had his single ear clutched in one hand, but he watched her without cringing away. "If Miss is truly Dobby's friend, Miss must know she is in danger. Miss cannot stay here. Miss must leave."

Hermione's fingers clenched on the hem of her dress, her nails scraping across her knee. "I can't leave." She touched her neck, unconsciously feeling for the collar she wore whenever Draco took her out of the safety of their room. "I can't leave the room. I'm safe here. Safe enough. I can't leave." Her eyes started to water again and she bowed her head, struggling to breathe evenly. "As soon as he comes back, I'll be safe. Draco. He-he keeps me safe. He would have locked me in. He wouldn't have left without making sure I was safe. I know him. I _know_ him." She could hear the rapidity of her speech, the hurried quality of every word, and she shivered. She wasn't trying to convince the little house-elf. She was trying, for the second and far more desperate time, to convince herself.

"Miss." The house-elf's voice was quiet, but firm, and Hermione looked through her tangled fringe to see him staring at her with a strange determination in his bulging eyes. "Miss is _not_ safe." He pointed to the door. "The others have not come yet, but they will. They will come. The one who lives here with Miss? He left without sealing her in. Miss is in danger. Miss will die."

Hermione shook her head wildly. "No. _No_. No, he wouldn't have." Her heart throbbed, pounding against her chest, her pulse drumming in her ears and behind her forehead. Her fingers trembled and her lungs ached. "No. Draco wouldn't have left without that. He might have left without a word or a note or-or-or--" She stared at the door, panting for breath, pressed against the alcove and clung to one corner of a dangling sheet. "He wouldn't have forgotten that!"

"He was not given a choice." The house-elf touched his left arm where a black brand would ride and shook his head. He walked over to the door and pulled it open without even a second's hesitation. Shutting it again, he turned to look at her. "No choice, Miss. And now Miss has no choice. "

* * *

Someone scratched at the door, quiet and slow. "Little Mudblood," crooned a voice. "Little Mudblood. I know you're in there. I know your skinny little failure of an owner is gone. You're all alone. _All_ alone." The doorknob jangled. It twisted. The door creaked and cracked open. The speaker laughed, rough and dark. He shoved open the door, light glimmering off his fangs, saliva dripping through his ragged beard. He licked his lips, held up his claws, and smiled. "Time to play."

Hermione screamed. She scrabbled upright, fighting out of the cocoon of sheets. Heart pounding, she whipped her head around to stare at the door. It was closed. Closed tight. No werewolf stood in the opening, drooling over the chance to take her. He wasn't there, waiting to rape her, rip her to shreds. No one was there. Just a closed door.

She plastered her hand over her heart and struggled to breathe. The house-elf had argued with her, and she'd finally ordered him to leave. Determined to wait for Draco to return, she'd curled up in the sleeping alcove and wrapped herself around the pillow that still held his scent. She'd drifted into a restless sleep, and she'd dreamt of a warm reunion and Draco's embrace.

There was no truth to it, she saw with a twinge in her heart as she sat up and wiped her face with the corner of the sheet. No truth to that dream, no truth to the nightmare of Fenrir Greyback's intrusion. She was alone.

Alone.

Hermione tightened her grip on the pillow and buried her face in it.

"Miss?"

Hermione snapped her head up, breath caught in her throat. She swallowed around the thick lump of fear as she spotted the house-elf standing by the cabinet, his single ear clutched in his hand. He took a step forward. "Is Miss ready to leave _now_?"

Hermione shook her head, clinging to the pillow. The house-elf gave her a look of intense disgust, strong enough that she recoiled. Before she could begin to be surprised that any house-elf, especially one trapped here under the Dark Lord's reign and cowed by the daily abuse and orders, would look at a person that way, he released his ear and stomped forward. He grabbed the pillow and jerked it away from her. "Miss. Must. Leave." Each word was nearly spat, his bulging eyes narrowed in anger. "Miss is in danger. Miss will _die_."

Hermione stared, bewildered by the house-elf's demeanor and expression. "Draco," she said, clinging to one corner of the sweat-dampened sheets, clinging to the one spot of comfort and safety she had in this wretched place. "I have to wait for Draco."

"No!" The house-elf reached up and wrapped his long fingers around her wrist. He pulled her arm, tugging her off-balance, sprawled across the bed to face him. Nose to nose, he glared at her. "Leave. You have to leave. Come with me and get out now. There's no more time."

Hermione blinked, hardly breathing. The belligerent attitude, the demanding and unexpectedly proper speech. It left her confused and unable to think. She scraped her teeth across her lower lip and exhaled, her breath leaving her with an audible tremor. "How?"

* * *

Hermione followed the little house-elf, jumping at every noise in the shadows. She recognized the direction they were headed. Draco had taken her on the same path the day he took her outside, leading her down through the corridors into the laundry and to the hidden door in the base of the castle wall. Thinking of him made her hesitate. She stopped at a corner and looked back the way she'd come with the house-elf. "Draco," she said, unaware she was speaking aloud, unaware of the fragile, futile hope in her voice. "Draco?"

She shrieked as a hand wrapped around her wrist. Jerking free, she slammed back against the wall. The little house-elf glared up at her, his single ear flattened to his head so firmly that it looked as though he had no ears at all. "Stop!" he hissed at her. "No going back! Forward only! Leave now!"

"I can't," she said, her eyes watering from the hard contact against the wall and the house-elf's bruising grip on her wrist. "I _can't_. Draco--"

"Is one of them. Death Eater. Kill and torture. Nothing here but death." He released her and turned his back to stalk away. Hermione worried at her lip. She took a step forward, took another back. She fidgeted, back and forth, chewing at her lip until she tasted blood.

She'd tried to escape before and it had nearly killed her. Draco had risked so much to rescue her from Alecto Carrow, had murdered the witch by using the Forbidden Forest's spiders in some method she still didn't understand. Escape was dangerous, trying to leave was tantamount to suicide, and she was only safe as long as Draco protected her.

Her hand went to her neck, feeling for the leather collar she'd left behind in their room. She was without his protection now. He was gone. He might not return. The reminder of that made her throat thicken and she swallowed hard against a lump forming. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. The house-elf was right - Draco was a Death Eater - but she trusted him. She....

A tear slid down her cheek.

She cared about him.

She didn't want to leave. Leaving meant that she was acknowledging that he might not return, that he might be killed on his mission. If she left his protection, if she - somehow, god only knew how - managed to escape, then she was leaving him for dead. Hermione didn't want to face that thought.

Hermione shook her head, turning to press her body against the wall. She couldn't. She couldn't think of him crumpled and bleeding, his grey eyes dulled with death, his white-blond hair black with spilled blood. She couldn't leave him to that.

She had just talked herself into turning around, to running back to their room and barricading herself inside until Draco returned, when she heard footsteps echoing through a corridor she'd passed with the little house-elf. Hermione held her breath and flattened against the wall, holding as stiff as the cold stone beneath her palms.

"What do you think?" said a deep voice. "Malfoy's gone and he didn't take his bitch with him. She looks like a good fuck. Must be, the way he's been swaggering around the past couple of months."

Another voice, less deep, more harsh, responded. "Not surprised he took her. Worthless as he is, he couldn't get a pure woman. Mudblood's best he can do."

Hermione's heart was pounding so loud that she couldn't identify either man and she wasted no energy on trying to figure them out. All of her efforts were on praying they wouldn't come closer.

"Don't think that's it," said the first man. He laughed, dark and nasty. "You didn't hear him talking to Jugson last week. Should have seen him. I think he actually cares about the whore. Makes me want to shove it up her cunt just to see the look on his face when he gets back and finds out she's been riding my dick."

"He's not going to. I already made sure of that." The second man spoke with complete confidence, and Hermione bit her lip until she tasted blood to keep from crying out in denial. "Malfoy won't be coming back from this mission. Jonah's gone too."

"Jonah? Jonah Crabbe? Why the hell would he ca-- _oh_. Jonah's son was killed a while back, wasn't he?"

This man's laugh was even darker and more threatening than the first man had managed to sound. "And he blames Malfoy for it. Don't even worry about it. He's been looking for this opportunity for months now. Malfoy's never coming back from his assignment, and his little whore is free for the taking."

After a moment of silence, the first man sniggered. "Then why wait?" Their footsteps hurried away, disappearing into the dungeons. Hermione slumped, each breath a struggle, each heartbeat shaking her body with pain. She buried her face in the crook of her elbow and gave in to a moment of hoarse, racking tears. She couldn't go back. All her choices, all her options, were being stripped from her. Even the tiny amount of freedom and safety she'd had with Draco was gone now.

When she managed to catch her breath and look up, the little house-elf was standing in front of her, his arms folded. His eyes were narrowed so far that she wondered how he could see her at all. "Miss," he said in warning tones. "No time." The house-elf hauled at her arm, trying to pull her away from the wall. "Last chance. Run and live, stay and die. No other choice."

Hermione choked and sniffed back further tears. Draco had been sent to die. Without him, she was as good as dead. She had no other choice. She could run back to her room and wait for the others to find her, to claim her, to torture and rape her to death. Or she could run.

Draco's voice echoed through her head, settling into her heart. _If something happens to me, run like fucking hell, Granger. You'll never make it off the grounds, probably won't make it out of the castle, but run. Try to make them kill you._

She straightened her shoulders and touched her throat, imagining the protection of his collar around her neck. To stay alive, she had to obey his commands. _Run_. She looked down at the little house-elf, wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand, and took a deep breath. "I'm ready," she whispered. "Last chance."

The little house-elf met her eyes. Nodding with relief obvious in his face, he led her onward through the corridors to the laundry.

* * *

They made it through the laundry without notice, made it out of the castle without being seen. Inside the castle, in the room she shared with Draco, Hermione had no way of telling the passage of time except by Draco's movements. As soon as she stepped out of the small, hidden door, she gaped up at the sky, astonished that it was night. For the first time in months, she saw the stars. No moon shone, and clouds dimmed most of the sky, but there, bright and gleaming, were the stars. She stared at them, her mouth open in awe, tears pricking at her eyes. They were so beautiful, and she missed them so much. Only a sound from inside the laundry spurred her into movement, and she followed the house-elf with tears running down her cheeks.

They hugged the stones of the castle as they made their way around the base. Hermione averted her eyes from the sloping hill where she'd seen the pile of bodies on her first escape attempt. She tried not to think of Draco, returning to their room after burning the corpses, falling into bed and wrapping her in his arms as he shuddered with the horror of his duties. Tried not to think of his eyes, hooded with spent desire, of his fringe damp with sweat and his heart beating beneath her hand as he fell asleep after taking comfort and respite in her body.

They waited in the shadows of the castle, waited for the clouds to thicken and cover even the light of the stars. Hermione felt her heart pounding in her throat, felt her entire body trembling. When the house-elf wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her forward, it took everything she had not to scream. He yanked her away from the safety of the castle wall, hauled her from the shadows, and dragged her into the open. They ran across the broad expanse of browning grass, their feet pounding on the ground with heavy thuds that Hermione was _certain_ could be heard inside the castle. She clapped one hand over her mouth to stifle her desperate gulps for air. Eyes locked on the edge of the forest, black trees and shadowed roots getting closer with each step, she ran.

A shadow passed overhead, visible in the darkness afforded them by the cloud cover. Hermione startled. Off-balance, she tripped and stumbled, scraping her hands in the dirt with a sharp cry.

Ahead of her, the little house-elf whipped around, his bulging eyes shining with fear. He snapped his head up, scanned the sky, then looked to the castle. His ear trembled and his eyes widened even more as a sound rolled across the grass. Hermione heard it too. A shout, an alarm. Their escape had been discovered.

She shoved herself to her feet and dashed forward. Another shadow passed overhead, this time followed by a bolt of green that split the sky and forced a scream from her throat. "There!" she heard a distant voice. "There she is!"

Sobbing for breath, she ran, easily outpacing the little house-elf. She could hear him pounding the grass behind her, both of them charging at full speed for the weak safety of the Forbidden Forest. A third shadow crossed their paths, then another. They might have been different shadows, might have been the same ones, swooping and soaring over them as they ran. Hermione had no time to wonder, no time to think of anything except the edge of the forest. She had to reach the forest.

Hermione's lungs burned as she fought to breathe, to get oxygen into her blood and her straining muscles. Her vision greyed, the forest seeming to retreat with every step she took. Beneath her feet, the ground reflected magic, flaring green and blue and gold with each spell that burst across the sky. Above her, the shadows loomed. "There!" The distant voice was nearer now, gaining on her. "There! I have her!"

A great boom shook the air, throwing Hermione to the ground. She rolled and scrambled to get to her feet, but before she could rise, a stinging force surrounded her. It lifted her off the ground, lifted her into the air. Hermione screamed, her hands stretched to the forest, her legs kicking wildly at nothing. She spun and twisted in the suffocating grip of the magic that had pulled her up, shrieking in fear and denial. The safety of the forest disappeared as black spots appeared in her vision, and with her last breath, her final burst of effort, she reached for the castle and screamed. " _Draco_!"

* * *

Hermione floated in darkness, unable to feel her limbs. Her heartbeat echoed, loud and drumming, almost obscuring the voices that danced in the shadows that surrounded her.

 _We have to let her rest. She's been through severe trauma. She'll be no good to us in her condition._

 _It's been three days. We need information, and she has it. Wake her._

 _Do not dare to give me an order again._

Hermione struggled against the dark clouds that held her wrapped tight. The voices were familiar. She knew them and they drew her. She writhed in her enclosing darkness, fought against it, and with a gasping shriek she broke through. She found her breath, found her body, and the black shadows reformed.

She sat up on a narrow bed, in a room lit only by a thin beam of moonlight shining through a slim arrow-slit window in the stone wall. At first she looked for the chair and the table, the tall cabinet and the hooks on the wall. Her stomach rolled when none of the furnishings in the room were familiar. For a moment, she'd hoped she was back in the castle, in her room with Draco. Hoped that within a few heartbeats he'd step out of the bathroom, his pale hair in disarray and his long legs bringing him close to her.

Her hand went to her throat and she felt for her collar, felt for the sore places where he'd worried his teeth into her when she tossed her head back and screamed in orgasm. She dropped her hand and shivered. No collar, no bites.

No Draco.

She wrapped the thin blanket around her shoulders and got out of the bed. On a chair near the door, she found a pair of jeans, worn white at the knees, a loose tunic-length shirt that was so faded its original color was gone, and a pair of trainers, stained with mud. At the bottom of the stack were a belt, a bra, knickers, and socks. Hermione ran her fingers over each item, tears stinging her eyes. They were hers. The clothes were hers, left behind in Grimmauld Place before she'd gone to the skirmish that had killed so many of her friends and ended with so many others captured like her.

She wiped her cheeks with the edge of the blanket before dropping it to the floor. She dressed quickly, the movements awkward to her at first, so long with only a single dress and a pair of plain shoes. Hermione avoided looking at herself as she dressed. She didn't want to see the sharp points of her hips pressing over the waistband of the jeans, the hollow of her stomach where the material gaped. When she straightened up, the jeans slipped off even with the belt on the smallest notch, and she whimpered in frustration before yanking them down to puddle on the floor. Nothing, none of the clothing, fit any longer and she left most of it on the chair. The shirt hung around her like a dress. She tugged at the hem, pulling it low. It would serve well enough. The dress Draco had given her was shorter, and even in just a shirt she felt more covered than she had in months.

Hermione tugged the blanket back around her shoulders like a cloak, and listened at the door. The voices she'd heard at first had gone silent, but when she cautiously edged her head into the corridor, she saw a flicker of light at the far end and heard other, different voices murmuring. Barefoot, the blanket clutched around her, she slipped towards that light. The sound of dishes, spoons clinking against bowls and knives against plates, of pitchers and glasses and mugs, reached her ears and grew louder as she neared the beam of light falling through a half-open door.

She stood just outside that warm, golden light, holding her breath as a shadow passed across it. Someone dropped a dish with a great clattering sound, and the burst of startled voices made her jump, her heart pounding. "Quiet!" someone inside said. "You'll wake her."

"Indeed. Let the girl sleep," drawled a deep voice. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Each syllable was achingly familiar, the accent warm and comforting. She yanked at the door and flung it open. Around a table sat a half-dozen figures, but they were a blur to her. She looked for one person, just one. At the end of the table was a flash of white-blond hair, a pointed profile. Hermione gasped and bolted for him.

She flung herself at his feet and wrapped her arms around his waist, babbling incoherently. She didn't know what she said, didn't hear any of the shocked and shouting voices that filled the small room. A hand fell on her hair, stroking down to her shoulder, and she buried her face against his thigh. "Draco," she sobbed, gasping in relief. "Draco!"

"Miss Granger," came the drawling voice, and the fingers on her shoulder moved in an awkward, almost gentle pat. "I am sorry. But you're mistaken."

Hermione looked up into his face. The eyes were right, pale grey and flecked with blue, but the mouth was too hard, the forehead too furrowed. Hermione released him with a spasmodic jerk. "Lucius," she whispered. He nodded, and Hermione wailed. She curled on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, and she wept.

* * *

Hermione huddled in the roots of an ancient tree in the garden behind the cottage, ignoring the bite of chilly autumn that lingered in the air. Cold meant nothing to her when she could be under an open sky. She dug her toes into the dirt and stared at the door she'd run through, voices following her in a chorus of _stop, Hermione, wait_ , and a final deep command - "Let her go."

So many familiar faces in that room, friends she'd missed so much, friends she'd feared were dead, but she hadn't been able to see who had actually sat at that table. The faces in her mind were those of the truly dead. Cho, Parvati, Morag. Ernie, Dean, Anthony.

So many faces at that table, and she'd wanted to see only one. Hermione buried her head against her knees and shook with a quiet sob. Draco. She'd been rescued, she was safe, she was alive and free and _safe_ , but she couldn't begin to accept that. She couldn't believe anything without Draco near her. He'd been all that had kept her alive those months, all that had kept her sane. Without him, nothing felt real.

A quiet cough reached her, and Hermione looked up to see Lucius standing several yards away. He held a tray in his hands. "You need to eat," he said, and fresh tears filled her eyes at the voice and accent that was so close to Draco's.

"Where's Harry?" she asked in a quiet voice, almost ashamed of herself for how mouse-like it sounded.

Lucius exhaled audibly, bowing his head for a moment. "We do not know," he said. "Not here. Not with this group." He raised his head and hoisted the tray. "Eat," he said again.

He took a step closer and she tensed, pressing her back into the roots of the tree. Lucius froze immediately. His face was solemn, but understanding. "Your decision, Miss Granger," he said quietly. "You have your freedom of choice returned to you. If you wish me to leave, I will, but I can guarantee you that of all the refugees gathered here, I am the only one who has any hope of understanding what you have been through the past months."

She tugged at a lock of her hair as she watched him, as she looked him over to gauge his sincerity. The dark, elaborate robes he'd worn in the past were gone, replaced with a simple shirt and trousers. Without the thick velvets and heavy woolens, he looked ... softer. Not friendly, she thought, never friendly. But less cold and impassive. She could see Draco's eyes in his, could see the face she'd grown to know and care about. Hermione nodded to him, but moved further into the embrace of the tree's large roots.

Lucius came forward and set the tray on the ground in front of her, then took a seat on a nearby root. He folded his hands together between his knees and looked into the distance. Hermione stared at the tray. A torn chunk of dark bread, a bowl of stew, a mug of steaming tea. The simplest possible food, and still her mouth watered. She snatched at the bread first.

"In Azkaban," Lucius said in a soft voice, "this would have been considered a feast. I detested what they gave us to eat, but I had no other choice unless I wanted to starve. I took what I was given, did what was necessary to survive. The very first day I was home, I demanded the most luxurious meal the Manor's kitchen could provide. Meat dripping in juices, the sweetest fruits, warm soups, and the oldest bottle of wine in the cellars. Everything rich and delectable, everything I'd dreamt of while imprisoned. I stuffed myself with it, until I thought I might explode. And within an hour, I vomited it all up again. Everything I tried to eat for a week, I lost again. What I had missed with such fervor, nearly wept to think about when my stomach cramped ... the dream had become a nightmare. I was no longer accustomed to anything I knew. It took a very long time to recover."

Hermione dunked her bread in the stew and watched him as she chewed slowly. "Steak and kidney pie," she said, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. "Vindaloo curry. Cadbury's Curly Wurly."

Lucius raised a brow, the expression so similar to Draco's look of curiosity that she choked on her bite of bread. She washed it down with a gulp of tea and pushed the tray away. Curling into the safety of the roots, she tugged her shirt down over her knees and wrapped her arms around her shins. "You're not talking about food," she said, looking at his hands, at the pale line on one finger, left from his missing signet ring. "Not just food, at least."

"No," he said. His shoulders slumped for a moment as he looked at the ground. In that second, she saw not an evil, Dark wizard, not a Death Eater. She saw an exhausted, worried man, separated from his family and everything he'd known. She made a soft noise of comprehension that drew a small shudder from Lucius. He exhaled slowly and raised his head to meet her eyes. "The others inside, they will not understand. They wanted to throw a party for your return. A celebration."

Hermione shuddered. The only celebrations she had seen for months had been the Death Eaters' revels, violent and bloody. She shook her head and muttered a refusal. Lucius hummed in acknowledgment. "I thought not. I am only too familiar with what you may have been through. It will take you time, Miss Granger. Time to regain who you were. Time to _believe_ that you are no longer a prisoner. I do wish that you could be given all the time you will need, but we have little. Mister Weasley has informed me of my son's last communication to him--"

Lucius cut off as Hermione shrieked, snapping her head up to stare at him wild-eyed. "Weasley. Weasley?" She scrabbled out of the enclosing roots and flung herself at his knees. She grabbed his hand and peered up into his face. "They're dead, they're all dead, Bellatrix made a necklace of their hair, Ron died as I watched, they're _dead_!"

Despite the shock in his face, Lucius wrapped his fingers around hers, cupped her hand in both of his. "No, Miss Granger. They are, for the most part, indeed dead. But not all. One survived." He loosened one hand from her grip and gestured to the cottage. Hermione twisted around to see the little house-elf emerging from the door, his single ear clutched in his hand. She stared, bewildered, then turned back to Lucius with her face in a grimace of confusion.

"It took us some time to perfect the transformation," Lucius said, "and unfortunately he wasn't able to speak until recently, but he has been watching over you since you were taken prisoner. We inserted him into the castle early on in hopes that he would prove useful. And he has." He pulled his hands from hers and stood, drawing his wand. Hermione crouched near the root, watching as Lucius approached the house-elf. The house-elf raised his chin and Lucius set the tip of his wand over the little being's heart. Hermione didn't recognize the spell he used, but the sound of it alone made her skin crawl. Dark magic.

She caught her lower lip in her teeth to keep from shrieking as the little house-elf coughed and fell to the ground. He shuddered and writhed as if he were in the magical grip of a Cruciatus. As Hermione watched in horror, his legs and arms elongated, his ear shrank. His green skin faded and became covered in freckles. He sat up, pulling the filthy tapestry he had worn over his lap, and ruffled one hand through his red hair. "Damn, that hurts," George mumbled, before looking her way and smiling. "Worth it, though. 'lo, Hermione."

* * *

Too much, too much, _too much_. Hermione crouched in a corner of the room where she'd woken, the chair jammed under the knob of the door to barricade it and protect her. Her hands pushed on her temples as if her head would explode without the pressure. Too much to handle, too much to assimilate. George, transformed by Dark magics into the little house-elf, there at the castle, spying on her for months. Dark magics, performed by Lucius Malfoy, who acted as though he were a valued member of the team gathered in the cottage. The cottage itself, hidden somewhere in the mountains, where dragons roared over their eggs. The dragons, the source of the terrifying shadows the night of her escape from the castle in the company of the little house-elf. The little house-elf, who was George.

Hermione shoved her hands against her head and screamed, trying to make sense of everything in her mind. No matter how she tried to wrap her thoughts around what had happened to her, what _was_ happening to her, she couldn't. Her mind was a whirl of confusion and loss, her body and heart ached for anything familiar, anything comforting.

One image came to the front of her thoughts, one face. Pale brows, stormy eyes. Hermione held her breath as she heard his voice. _Stay calm._ As if he were standing beside her, his long fingers resting on her hair, she exhaled and felt her rushing heart slow. On the floor beside the chair, she spotted the belt she'd discarded earlier. Eyes locked on it, she crawled across the floor. She weighed it in one hand. It was heavy leather, with a solid buckle. Not quite the same, she thought, but close. Very close. Close enough.

Moving slowly, she slid the belt around her neck. The weight of the leather on the back of her neck, beneath her hair, was so familiar that it made tears spring to life. She pushed the end of it through the buckle to pull it close to her throat. With her eyes closed as she moved, she could imagine Draco's long fingers fastening her collar on, could imagine his brandy-scented breaths hitting her cheeks.

 _I'll keep you safe, Hermione,_ she heard him whispering to her. _I'll keep you safe._

Hermione stood, her heartbeat even, her breathing steady. The tail of the belt dangled down her back between her shoulders, and if she tried, she could imagine it was the chain. If she tried, she could pretend Draco had dressed her in her collar, could pretend that his hands had moved over her shoulders and gently lifted her hair from beneath the leather band. She could pretend that he'd leaned down and touched his mouth to hers, kissed her with delicate care. Hermione pressed her fingers to her throat and listened for his voice in her mind.

 _Stay calm._

She smoothed her long shirt down her hips and raised her chin. The rules of the game had changed, but she would still play. If she stayed calm, if she played the game properly, she would see Draco again. She was determined to believe that, ordered herself to believe it with everything in her heart. She _would_ see him again.

She let out a slow, deep breath, and left the privacy of her room, feeling ready to handle whatever came at her.

* * *

The small sitting room in the cottage smelled of mold and dust. Despite the fire in the hearth, the room held a chill. Hermione sat gingerly on the edge of a worn chair, avoiding the spring that had poked through the cotton upholstery in the back, her feet tucked under her to avoid the cold wooden floor. Her hand rested against her throat, fingers curled around the makeshift collar. She looked over the gathered people, her heart pounding at the familiar faces, her eyes watering as she saw the evidence of war on each of them. George, pressed into a corner of a sofa, with Angelina Johnson curled into his embrace, her arms folded to hide a missing hand beneath her elbow. Lee Jordan, his dark skin shiny in places from a recently healed burn, perched on the opposite arm of the sofa, Michael Corner beside him with a heavy brace banding his leg from ankle to thigh. A dozen other people she knew and had missed were watching her, including Terry Boot and Zacharias Smith, with an additional handful of faces she barely recognized.

She looked more closely at one woman, slender and dark-haired, with a fresh and jagged scar that cut through her face, blinding one eye and twisting the corner of her mouth into a sneer. The woman caught her stare and turned to face her fully. Hermione gasped, covering her mouth. "Pansy," she mumbled, her voice caught in her throat.

Pansy nodded in a silent greeting. Behind her, Lucius moved into the flickering firelight and laid a hand on her shoulder. "You know Miss Parkinson, I see," he said. He gestured to a couple sitting in the shadows by a broken grandfather clock. "And this is Terence Higgs and Tracey Davis. Mister Zabini is on patrol."

Hermione tightened her grip around her collar, feeling her throat move behind it as she swallowed. "This is ... unexpected," she managed to say.

"I am not the only one to see the error of my ways," Lucius said. "To see what is happening to our families and our society. I will not say that I do not still wish for you and those like you to be out of my world, but if the Dark Lord continues to reign, there will not be a world left for _any_ of us. What is that phrase your kind uses? The lesser of two evils?"

"Always the arrogant bastard, aren't you, Malfoy?" Lee muttered.

"You'd rather he lied?" Pansy snapped. "At least he's honest."

Lee shot up from the sofa. "I'd rather he wasn't here at all! And the rest of you! We don't need any of you here, crawling and begging for help now that things aren't going your way."

Pansy scraped her hair back and passed her hand down her still-healing scar. "If I hadn't been, you'd have lost a lot more than some skin in that last fight. At least you still have both eyes."

"Don't need two eyes to see that you and your snakes are _still_ out for yourselves!"

Voices rose, shouts and insults filling the room. People got to their feet, got into each other's faces. Hermione pressed back into the chair, ignoring the pain of the protruding spring against her shoulder. She clutched the belt around her neck and shut her eyes against the aggressive, angry voices. "Stay calm," she whispered to herself as she curled her knees to her chest. "Stay calm. Stay calm."

"Stop this!" One voice, Lucius' voice, rose above the others, deep and commanding. "If we fight among ourselves, we will have no strength to fight _them_."

All the voices went silent, and in the quiet, Hermione's soft whispers were suddenly audible. "Stay calm. Stay calm. Draco, I promise. I promise. I'll stay calm." Fingers locked around the leather surrounding her neck, she buried her head against her knees and tried to catch her breath. She heard one of the men swear, then a hand touched her shoulder. Hermione yelped and cowered back into the chair.

"Get away from her, Malfoy," Lee said. "Damned obvious she doesn't want you to touch her. Not surprised. Probably figures you'll do the same thing to her that your son did."

"My son would nev--"

"He's a Death Eater! He's kept her prisoner for months, and fuck if we know what he's done to her. Look at her! She's bloody terrified. She can't even talk to us."

Hermione lifted her head, tears hot on her cheeks, desperate to defend herself, to defend Draco, but before she could speak, George stepped forward. "No," he said, staring Lee down. "He didn't harm her. He protected her."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Lee said, the words echoed by Angelina and Michael. "Take one look at her and tell me he didn't hurt her. She was covered in bruises when we rescued her that night." His eyes narrowed and a muscle in his cheek jumped. His voice emerged in a hiss. "Tracey checked her over. Said there was evidence of semen. Bruising. You're going to defend the bastard who raped her?"

"No!" Hermione shouted. She jumped from the chair and flew across the room, fists hammering on Lee's chest. "Never! You're wrong, you're _wrong_!"

Lee staggered and someone wrapped their arms around Hermione. She shrieked, writhing, until Lucius spoke against her ear. "Calm down, Miss Granger." His voice, so familiar, so like Draco's, stilled her frantic movements. He touched the leather belt around her neck, and beneath the edge of his sleeve, she saw the twisted black stain of his Dark Mark. His warmth against her back, his voice at her ear, his touch on her throat - it was all so similar to how Draco held her when they curled into the sleeping alcove together that she closed her eyes and keened from the ache in her heart.

"Draco," she muttered, turning in Lucius' arms to rest her head on his heart. "Draco never hurt me. Never, never, never."

"I believe you, Miss Granger," he said, his hands resting on her shoulder blades.

George spoke up. "So do I. You weren't there, Lee. Angelina. Any of you. You weren't there. I was. He kept her safe, all these months. Without him, she'd have been dead long ago. I was already in the castle when she was brought in. _I_ know what he did to her. He fed her and he gave her clothes and he gave her shelter in that bloody place."

The floor creaked and Hermione turned her head enough to open one eye, to see George approaching her. He kept his eyes on her face. "He never once hit her, never even threatened her, unless they were putting on a show for the others. Not once. I saw. I saw him helping her. I saw the books he smuggled in for her. I saw them...." He cut off, his cheeks flushing red. Hermione felt her face heating as well, thinking of the times that little house-elf had watched her rising from bed with Draco's marks, his sex bruises and love bites, on her throat and thighs. Of the time that house-elf had appeared in the room suddenly and disappeared just as fast, but not before Draco's long fingers stroked her cunt and she screamed in pleasure for him.

George closed his eyes and shook his head. "I saw them," he said again. "I saw him. I know what he did to her. And if he were here right now, I'd shake his fucking hand for it. He kept her alive. He kept her _safe_. I trust him."

"You're delusional." Lee threw his hands up, face twisted in disgust. "Spent too much time as a house-elf. Any number of idiotic ideas could have been put into your head thanks to Malfoy there. For fuck's sake, look at Hermione. She's holding on to him like a sodding stuffed toy. Who knows what's been done to her mind? I don't trust him. I don't trust any of this. We shouldn't have let even one of them join up with us. I said from the beginning this was dangerous. They'll probably kill us in our beds, if they don't drag us off for their _master_."

Hermione felt Lucius tensing as he held her, but he kept silent, doing nothing but trail his fingers down the length of the belt that hung along her spine. Pansy spoke up instead. "That's rich," she said, her voice harsh as gravel. "I've been here six months, and in all that time, the only person who's made a single threat has been _you_. The only person who's offered any violence or danger has been you. We, all of us?" She gestured at the two other Slytherins standing behind her. "We've done _nothing_ to you."

"Yeah," Lee said with a snarl. "A whole lot of nothing. All of you." He grabbed George's arm. "Come on, mate. Don't do this, don't side with them. You know what they are. You know what they're like. Don't _do_ this. Don't do this to us. Don't do this to F--"

"Shut up," George said, his face gone white. "Don't you dare. I told you. I know what I saw. Call me a liar if you want, but don't you dare drag my brother into this. He'd see the truth, too." He shoved Lee back and stood with his fists curled at his sides.

Lee twitched, his eyes narrowed with anger. "Snake-lover," he spat. He stormed out of the room, swearing. Angelina threw a disgusted look at Hermione, cradled in Lucius' arms, and followed. Most of the others went as well. George and the Slytherins remained, and when Hermione pushed away from Lucius to wipe the tears off her cheeks, she saw Terry and Zacharias still waiting, both looking at them in silence.

"Not going with them?" she asked, her voice thick.

"Lee's ... upset," Terry said, carefully avoiding any glance at George. "Took Fred's death pretty hard. They were ... close."

"You mean Lee wished they were _close_ ," Zacharias muttered.

Terry elbowed him and the two scuffled for a moment. Hermione ignored it. "That doesn't explain why you're staying," she said, her fingers once again at the collar around her throat. Touching it helped to keep her steady, let her imagine that Draco was close by, watching over her with his storm-colored eyes.

"We're, well. I don't entirely trust Malfoy there," Zacharias said, flicking a glance at Lucius. "But everything he's done so far has been on the level. There's not that many of us left fighting. We're awfully scattered. Half the time we can't contact any of the other groups. Owls get hexed out of the sky, Floos are monitored everywhere in the country, and those of us who know how to cast a Patronus...." He shrugged, shaking his head. Hermione didn't need him to finish his sentence to understand how difficult any happy memories would be to bring to mind in their situations.

"Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows," she murmured.

Lucius chuckled under his breath. "Ah, Shakespeare." At Hermione's startled glance, Lucius laughed outright. "Miss Granger, if you're at all familiar with his works, you're familiar with magic. Transformations, potions, spells - William Shakespeare was quite the wizard in his time."

Hermione couldn't do anything more than shake her head, bemused. So much had hit her in the recent past that one more bit of oddity was nothing. She covered her mouth as a deep yawn caught her. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, rubbing her forehead. "I don't mean to be rude."

"But you're exhausted," Lucius said. "Mister Weasley will walk you back to your room. Sleep, Miss Granger. Tomorrow is soon enough to start discussing where we shall go next. You will need to be informed of current events, and perhaps you will have some information for us. Other than Mister Weasley and the Death Eaters themselves, no one who goes into Hogwarts leaves it alive. You may be able to help us."

Hermione nodded and followed George out of the sitting room. "I can find my own way," she said quietly. "You don't have to walk with me."

"No," he said with a quick look at her. "But it's probably best. Lee's pretty hacked off right now. Oh, I don't think he'd hurt anyone," he added hurriedly, "but better not to risk that he'd bother you. Sorry about that, by the way. Didn't expect he'd be so angry. He's done all right with Malfoy and the other snakes up to now."

"I upset the status quo," she said as they reached her room. She pushed the door open and turned to face George with one hand on the door jamb. "I have so many questions that I don't even know where to start, but I have to know. How did you get in and out of Hogwarts? That spell couldn't have given you house-elf magic, could it? I could tell it was Dark, but...." She shook her head, shrugging in confusion.

"It did, actually," George said. "I couldn't begin to explain how, if I had a billion years. I didn't ask Malfoy how that spell got invented. I don't think I want to know what it was used for before. You hear freaky rumors about those old-line purebloods, y'know?"

She couldn't quite laugh, but she managed a bit of a smile for him. George bobbed his head. "I'll let you sleep. Big day tomorrow, loads of talking to get done. Rest up for it." He touched her shoulder and winked. "Welcome back, Hermione."

George headed away and Hermione took a step into the corridor. "George, thank you," she called to him. "For standing up for me. For ... for defending Draco. You didn't have to do that. Nobody else will really thank you for it, but I will."

George stood with his back to her, his hand on the wall. After a moment, his shoulders slumped and he turned back to Hermione. His face was set in solemn lines and he watched her for a moment. He came to a decision and came back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, folded parchment. "I ... you." He cleared his throat, a reddish tinge spreading across his skin beneath his freckles. "I didn't realize how much you'd become attached to Draco at first," he said in a soft voice. "I thought you might be all too happy to be free of him. That's why I was so insistent on getting you out of the castle. And why I hid this from you."

He held the parchment out to her. Hermione took it, her heart suddenly pounding at the familiar handwriting she spotted when she lifted the edge of one side. George avoided her eyes. "I thought it was another communication for me," he said. "He left me notes, hidden in a secret spot, so that I could carry them outside. But when I saw this one was for you, when I saw what he'd written...." George coughed, shuffling one foot. "I thought it would be best if you didn't see that, because I needed to get you out while I could and I didn't want you finding more excuses to stay. You fought hard enough as it was. But after seeing how you reacted today, how you defended him yourself--"

He met her eyes. His voice sounded worn and heavy, not even a hint of humor in it. "I don't wonder if I might have done more harm than good keeping that from you. I'm sorry, Hermione. You need that." He gave her a sheepish, one-shouldered shrug, and left her staring at the parchment, her free hand pressed against the leather around her throat.

* * *

 _Hermione,_

 _For some reason it's easier to say this in writing than to your face. Maybe because when I look at you, I see something in your eyes that I shouldn't see. Something I was raised to despise, something I've been trained to hate. I don't understand it. I don't think I want to. When I claimed you as my prize, I'd hoped he would kill you. I wanted your suffering to be short. Now I think that I would do anything, anything to keep you alive. That terrifies me. And it thrills me at the same time. I don't think I should admit to that, but I want you to know, and it's so much easier to write down than to say. You're important to me. More than I ever could have expected you'd become._

 _I don't know when I'll be sent to Wales. Could be weeks from now, could be morning. I thought about our conversation after you went to sleep, and I think I have the solution. I've gone to talk to Amycus Carrow. He isn't a kind man, but I also know for a fact that he has no attraction to women. If he takes you into his protection, he'll never touch you. You'll be safe. I'll have to offer him a few things that I'm not that keen on giving, but it's not that bad. I've done it before - just need a seriously hot bath afterward. (You're not the only one willing to offer up your body in order to survive. Some few of us in seventh year -- well, that's a story for a later time, maybe.) On the plus side, he's dead easy to manipulate after getting laid. I'll talk him into claiming you if anything happens to me on my mission._

 _If he comes to you, you can open the door to him. The door's already charmed to respond. It'll only open from the inside, and for fuck's sake, don't open it unless you have to. The incantation is "sino foris". I will do my best to convince Amycus to give you a choice. Go with him to live or surrender to death. I hate how dramatic that sounds, but you'll have to agree there isn't much choice beyond it. If he doesn't claim you as his property, he'll kill you outright. I hate it, hate this, but it's the best option. If my mission goes poorly, if I'm killed, he's the best choice. Greyback still wants you, Bella still hates you, and Scabior's been sniffing around recently, giving little hints that make my skin crawl. Believe me, you don't want anyone else to get their hands on you. Amycus will make it quick._

 _There's more I want to say. Problem is, I don't know what to say. Fuck me if I understand what you've come to mean the past few months. Sometimes I wonder which of us is actually the captive. Hermione, I_

The letter ended, as if he'd been called away while writing it. Hermione dragged shaking fingers across Draco's handwriting, reading the letter for the seventh time since George had given it to her. Several of the words were smudged now, the parchment bearing darker wet rings where she'd failed to catch a tear before it slipped off her face. She'd wondered, in the flight from the castle, why Draco had left the door unlocked, why he'd left her unprotected in their little room. He hadn't. George must have read the letter, determined the pass phrase, and unlocked the door to "prove" that Draco had left her unguarded. That she'd been abandoned.

She closed her eyes and touched the belt still fastened around her neck in lieu of Draco's collar. He hadn't left her. He hadn't abandoned her. He'd gone to find more protection for her, gone to provide for her in case of the worst. Hermione crushed the letter to her chest, pressing it to her heart as she fought not to sob. Taken from him without a word. He had to be frantic, terrified that one of the other Death Eaters had broken his protective spells and abducted her from the room, stolen her for torture or rape, for the sheer pleasure of destroying her or the dark revenge of destroying _him_.

"Draco," she whispered. "Draco, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Be safe. Please, _please_ be safe."

A high-pitched sound echoed off the walls, as if denying her quiet, desperate prayer. At first she thought it was a scream somewhere in the cottage. Then a second came, and a third, with more in rapid sequence, resolving into a wailing siren alarm. Shouts rose, footsteps pounded past her door. Hermione scrambled to her feet and threw the door open, grabbing Terry as he charged through the corridor. "What is it?" she demanded, shaking his arm when he stared at her with his eyes wide and startled.

"Attack," he said, panting and tugging his arm free of her grasp. "We're under attack."

Before he could get away, she grabbed him again, her heart racing wild. It had been months, she was undernourished and weak, and she missed Draco so much that she could barely think about anything else, but one thought struggled up to the top of her mind. "Wand. Terry, I need a wand!"

He stared at her and bolted away, ducking through a door further down the corridor. Swearing under her breath, she slapped her hand against the wall. The sting of the impact burned through her, helping her to focus. Wandless magic wasn't her strength, never had been, but if she had to, she thought maybe, just maybe she could manage a defensive sp--

"Here!" Terry appeared in front of her and shoved a wand into her hand. The wood was dry and cracked, the tip so worn that a bit of the unicorn hair was poking through, but as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt, she felt magic burn through her like a lightning strike. She gasped with it, with the feel she'd almost forgotten in the months she'd spent prisoner in the castle. It wasn't her wand, would never respond to her like the wand she'd first taken home from Ollivander's shop, but it would do.

She ducked back into her room as Terry dashed away. Quickly, she altered the discarded clothes to fit her thinner frame and dressed. Draco's letter, folded up, was pushed into the back pocket of her jeans as she hurried to the sitting room. All the furniture had been jammed against the walls, with a table now in the center, a map spread over it. Lucius, leaning on the table with both hands, muttered to himself.

"What's going on?" Hermione demanded to know as she shoved up against the table between Zacharias and Pansy.

"Miss Granger, go--" Lucius lifted his head and met her eyes. Whatever he'd been planning to say, he swallowed it down. Shaking his head, he dragged one finger along a boundary line drawn on the map. "We're under attack. The far boundary wards were broken approximately an hour ago. Mister Zabini reports a force of around twenty. They're moving fast, and moving aggressively. We've already...." A muscle in his cheek jumped. "We've lost Mister Higgs."

Pansy slapped one hand against the table, her snarl even more vicious with the scar twisting her mouth. "How did they get through? We've put every fucking security measure into place."

The people gathered around the table broke into angry chatter, arguing over so many things Hermione couldn't keep track. She stared at the map, her brows knotted, the wand twisting between her hands. She cocked her head, examining the topography, the rivers and mountains. A shoreline caught her eye and she stepped around to Lucius' opposite side for a better look. Her breath caught in her throat and she smacked her palm over the green splotch of a forest. "Where are we?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"A couple of miles outside Cynghordy," Pansy said, almost spitting the words. "Wales."

Hermione choked, her hands trembling so hard she crumpled the map beneath her fingers. "Marietta," she whispered.

Lucius snapped his head up, staring at her in confusion. "Miss Edgecombe? She's taken an emergency furlough. Her mother is in poor health."

"No," Hermione said, her hand plastered to her throat and the makeshift collar as she backed away from the table. "No, no. _No_. She's not. She-she. The castle. She was at. She was. The castle. Hogwarts."

Lucius' eyes widened until the whites were clearly visible around the grey. A low growl started deep in his chest, swiftly cut off with a muttered profanity. "Speak clearly, Miss Granger. What?"

Hermione gripped the collar with one hand and the wand with the other. "Marietta," she said, her words hoarse as she forced them out of her throat. "She was at the castle. At Hogwarts. She said ... she said she'd infiltrated a resistance cell. She spoke to the Dark Lord. She's not with you, Lucius. She's with them."

Everyone gathered around the table went silent. Everyone except for Lucius. He hissed and swore virulently, sweeping the map from the table in one violent motion. "Are you certain?" he said, whipping around to face Hermione, his hands in fists at his sides. "Hermione, are you certain?"

Hermione swallowed, trying desperately to moisten her dry mouth. "I watched her. I was there, at Draco's feet. On the dais. She spoke to him, t-to the Dark Lord. He told her that she'd failed him. He fed her to Fenrir."

The room was still, as if everyone in it had held their breath. Lucius gave one more growl and snatched his wand from the holster at his waist. "We're betrayed," he said, his voice disturbingly calm. "Abandon the house. Retreat plan four. Kill without reserve, kill your way free if you must. Kill every invader you see. Go, now. Do not hesitate. Attack and run. We will regroup at Carreg Cennen. The caverns beneath the castle will provide us enough opportunity to create our next strategy."

No one moved, and Lucius spun, his wand leveled. "Go!" he roared.

The room cleared in seconds, and Lucius stared at Hermione. "Come with me," he said. "I'll get you out. We'll likely have to battle our way through." His pointed face twisted in a humorless smile. "Fortunately, I'm aware that you're more than capable of putting up a fight."

Hermione shook her head, shook it wildly, until she could feel her entire body shaking with it. She pressed her shoulders to the wall behind her, the unfamiliar wand clenched in both fists. "Draco," she whispered.

"We don't have time for--"

" _Draco_." Hermione gripped the collar she'd made out of the belt and met Lucius' eyes, willing him to understand. "The Dark Lord had Marietta killed for failure. He sent Draco to take over the mission. Draco's leading the attack."

Lucius went pale, stumbling against the table. Hermione slid down the wall to her knees. Lucius' orders hung in the air between them, his commands burning down to her bones. _Kill without reserve, kill your way free if you must. Kill every invader you see._

Lucius raised his head, his face in a grimace of agony. "My son. _No_." He dove forward, grabbing Hermione's shoulders. He shook her hard, his face pale, his eyes wild with desperation. "Miss Granger. Miss-- _Hermione_. Help me save him. Help me save my son."


End file.
